Another Day at Hogwarts
by Mardigny
Summary: The adventures of an uptight woman who seemingly has her priorities straight. I'd call it a 'McGonagall crack-serial.' T, possibly M later. Cowritten with TheBreezeRider.
1. Chapter 1

So this random deviation from the norm isn't entirely my idea - Harry Potter is copyright to J.K. Rowling and the book's distributors and publishers, while this story is not really my style at all and is the result of an active collaboration with **TheBreezeRider** here on fanfiction. We'll both be writing, but all of the story will go here. Besides, I haven't written in forever and there's no better way to break back into your writing shoes than to do something 1,000 miles from what you're used to.

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><p><strong>ANOTHER DAY AT HOGWARTS<strong>

_The Adventures of An Uptight Woman Who Seemingly Has Her Priorities Straight_

Ch 1, Part I

_The Secret Stash of Pleasure_

In McGonagall's view, it took far too long for the final Transfiguration class of the evening to come to an end. Throughout the lesson on transforming mangoes into mice, something that she considered to be a simple task, she kept glancing periodically at the hourglass sitting quietly on her desk as she swept around the room trying desperately to keep the mangoes from exploding and gushing their contents all over the ceiling or catching on fire or god _knows _how many things these second-years could do when they weren't even trying.

After an hour and a half of near madness - in her opinion, at far too late an hour to boot - the final grain of sand drifted to the bottom of the hourglass, and the sound of a loud foghorn erupted throughout the room, startling more than a few of the students as it was want to do.  
>"Now remember to think about how the form changes from plant to animal, as the process is important. We'll talk more about the subject next class. In the meantime in your transfiguration books - "<p>

She felt her voice give as the growing noise of the students talking and packing up their things overcame her, mingling with a second foghorn-like blast from the hourglass. McGonagall hesitated for a moment, her fatigue begging her to allow the students to ignore her and carry on just this once. But that was no option. She settled for a poker face, her composure only half-way recovered.

"_Pay attention!_" she near shrieked, feeling a grating sensation on her vocal chords as she strained to be heard. As she snapped her book shut, the students became quiet once again and turned their eyes toward their professor. "As I was saying, please read over chapter four in you transfiguration books by next class-"

A third and final foghorn-like blast erupted from the hourglass on the corner of her desk, so loud that she could feel the vibrations beneath her feet.

"Oh, be quiet, would you," she spat at the thing, the pitch of her voice almost two octaves higher than normal.

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><p>And finally all of the younger students had left the room.<p>

All in all, it had not been the best of days in McGonagall's recent memory. Not only were her classes of younger years becoming progressively more 'enthusiastic' over time, but her brain had decided to keep on lingering on how occurrences at the castle over the past several years had gotten progressively more grave. She feared for the worst, yes, but she also feared that her preoccupation with instilling any sort of respect for the art she excelled in would end up causing her to end up with her missing her chance to aid her colleagues or her students. Her mind whirred as it tried to settle down from the bustle of the evening, and as it did, McGonagall began to well up in frustration. Once she felt a tear escape she realized she could very well be too exhausted to try to make her way to the Great Hall for food.

She went, somewhat guiltily, for Plan B instead.

With some tears still in her eyes and ears ringing, she stood and strode over to the oaken cabinets in the back of her classroom, where the older students kept their oversized textbooks. With a glance behind her towards the open door, she pulled out her wand and aimed it squarely at the fourth cabinet from the left.

_"Foraminem acclaro."_

The cabinet floated upward, dislodging itself from those nearby and sending some dust raining onto the floor. Behind it was a cavernous nook in the wall with a small, tightly-bound pouch, which floated into the room and into McGonagall's waiting hand.

Then the cabinet crashed back down as the smell of the bag's contents began to reach her nose. With a gleam in her eye, wizened grin beaming perhaps too wide, she strode with a slight bounce back to her desk, one hand busily trying to open the bag as she went. Perhaps too busily.

The bag burst open as her long fingers fumbled with the worn drawstrings and dried, greenish leaves fell out in a short waterfall, flakes of the organic material littering the open floor before her desk.

The sight corrupted her, the coaxing odor overcame her, the sound of her foot taking one last step upon the stone floor of her classroom was a distant boom in her ears.

She fell to her knees in ecstasy, grasping at the stuff greedily, over and over, as if it could quench the very fire in her veins that it was causing. All she could hear from the world outside of her body was the soft crunch of the leaves as she clawed at them impatiently, but the sound of the blood blasting in her ears as she felt incomparable happiness was so much louder, so much sweeter. She hadn't felt this in so long. So, so long. She couldn't help herself any more. As she rolled over on to her back, her body began to distort and change. The room seemed to grow as she shrunk, and it was like she was melting into her own happiness. She could feel her spine extend in one fluid motion, a swishing tail now thumping haphazardly against the ground.

She had almost forgotten how amazing it felt to revel like this. Her brain was urging her to delve deeper into herself as she lay on the ground, rolling and purring in euphoric spasms. Soft waves of color began to unfold themselves before her slowly diluting eyes, transforming her classroom into a hazy kaleidoscope. She didn't care if the stuff stuck to the fur of her face, legs, or tail; the longer she squirmed and wriggled and flipped around under the spell, the more entranced and enthralled she became.

It was as if she had lost all conscious notion of her human self.

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><p>When Severus Snape knocked on the door to Minerva McGonagall's office fifteen minutes before, he was quite bothered by the fact that he had gotten no response. She was a punctual, timely woman in his experience, for all manners of things, and seeing as how tomorrow's early potions class would be reliant on the stock of mango and other fruit he had lent to her on behalf of Professor Sprout, it was quite important that he find her.<p>

Therefore, he had glided up to her classroom instead, somewhat of a walk from his own in the castle dungeons, expecting to simply knock on the door and find her there berating some Slytherin of his for doing something 'inappropriate'; that was to say, praiseworthy and unique.

What he came across was certainly quite unique.

Before he even reached the classroom he could hear a low-pitched maniacal rumbling, causing one eyebrow to shoot up. As he stepped closer he could also make out the noise of fluttering leaves or bits of paper, causing his confusion to become even more apparent. By the time he reached her office door and looked inside, his face blanched in a mixture of bemusement and shock.

On the floor near McGonagall's desk, a silver tabby was rolling around in a rather well-used pile of catnip, purring in the sheer enjoyment of whatever it is that cats feel. He cleared his throat.

As there was no response but simply louder purring as the tabby rolled over again, he managed to say, quite loudly, "Minerva."

And suddenly a frightened and duly embarrassed McGonagall was on the floor looking up at him, particles of catnip clinging to her hair and digging under her fingernails, mouth opening and closing as if trying to come up with some sort of excuse.

"I'll need those remaining mangoes, Minerva."

She swallowed, hard, and stared at him as she stood up. McGonagall pointed to a crate beside her desk as she turned away.

"In there, Severus."

He didn't move. Instead, he cocked his head.

"If this is something you do often... there are easier ways to release stress, Minerva."

Minerva's mouth was a hard line as she stared back at Snape, but she was obviously still too flustered to do anything other than mumble something incomprehensible and continue pointing at the box.

"_If _you accompany me back down to the dungeons," Snape said, still looking at her without the slightest hint of emotion, "perhaps I could show you."

Her face went white as what he said registered in her mind, but then she gulped again and nodded. He better not have meant what her brain told her he could have.

"There... there were... some figs I happened to have from last week as well, you wouldn't perhaps need...?"

But Snape had already cast the charm to cause the box to levitate out from under the table, and he strode out of her office in the direction of the nearest staircase, causing McGonagall to quickly force herself to appear as if nothing had just transpired and follow in turn.

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><p>If you get the fig reference, good.<p> 


	2. Chapter 1, Part II

Thanks to those that have reviewed so far! **TheBreezeRider** wrote this section, with me making small edits here and there; most likely, she'll do every other one, so she and I will alternate between writing and editing. She's also working on her own Harry Potter fanfic over on her corner of the site, so if you feel so inclined, go give her some constructive criticism.

Harry Potter is property of JK Rowling and.. whoever else it's property of.

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><p><strong>ANOTHER DAY AT HOGWARTS<strong>

_The Adventures of An Uptight Woman Who Seemingly Has Her Priorities Straight_

Ch 1, Part II

_The Useless? Vial_

The air within Snape's dungeon office was cold and moist. The shadowed stone walls were lined with shelved alcoves, each overburdened with bottles and tubes and other oddly shaped containers of unusual substances. The more stoic professor deposited the levitating crate of mangoes against the far wall as he strode towards the heavy wooden desk at the center of the room. Minerva McGonagall followed dubiously from behind, her glasses slightly askew, small bits of dried catnip flakes clinging to her silver hair.

Snape began to fuss with a drawer, and as she drew up to his desk, McGonagall observed him procure a small vial from an antique wooden box embossed with snake-like designs. He returned the box to the top left drawer of the desk.

"This," he then said, holding the rounded vial between his thumb and index finger, "is a substance Muggles use." McGonagall nodded in response, drawing closer as her brow furrowed. The vial was half-filled with what looked like burnt, greenish-brown morsels of some unfamiliar substance.

"And what does it do, Severus?" asked the woman, her voice small. She was unsure that she needed any more "relaxing" tonight - not after being caught in her catnap ecstasy just minutes before. Although... at least she had an excuse to keep going.

"It merely offers a brief escape from reality," he answered coolly, piercing McGonagall with his bottomless black eyes. "If you wish to join me..." he added, shaking the vial before turning his back to her.

_A brief escape. _McGonagall's body froze, her mind begging her to turn on her heels, her body drawing her towards Snape. She closed her eyes, taking a deep breath of dank air. The thought of the past week's lessons–or attempted ones, she supposed –and the forthcoming mound of scrolls to evaluate was smothering her, now that she thought back upon it. The decision to follow Snape was not a hard one to make after all, it seemed.

She looked up to find that Snape was entering a small space hidden behind a heavy curtain covering the wall between two of his supply cabinets and strutted after him. She found herself in an alcove occupied by a barred window, dusty cushions heaped together on the stone floor. Snape was already seating himself upon them, folding the edges of his long cloak to provide Minerva with more sitting room. She sat down beside him, the heavy curtain falling into place behind her.

Snape began to extract the substance and put a handful of it in his mouth. As he chewed, McGonagall did the same. She had to work to see past the earthy taste, feeling a particular dryness in her mouth once she had succeeded in swallowing some. Then she waited.

Minutes passed, but nothing happened. Snape was resting his head against the wall, his sallow face illuminated by shafts of moonlight filtering in through the small window. He looked at peace, his eyes closed.

"Severus?" McGonagall ventured to ask after the silence began to get to her. Contrary to feeling any more light-headed, she felt her mind clearing, perhaps because of the dwindling effects of the catnip.

"Yes, Minerva?" he asked, mild annoyance piercing his usual tone. However, he did not stir, much less open his eyes.

"What exactly is supposed to be happening?" McGonagall was feeling more nervous than relaxed. Half of her was already drawing her out of the alcove, away toward her feather-lined bed where sweet rest was waiting.

"It can take up to two hours for the full effects to be realized," he snapped somewhat offhandedly, and at that McGonagall saw out of the corner of her eye the faint image of her students, rebutting her every statement as if they somehow felt she should be so privileged as to even have the opportunity to cast her eyes upon them. The sudden comparison enraged her; and she certainly did not feel with tolerating any more sauciness until she had gotten her well-deserved rest. McGonagall gathered her robes from beneath her, stood, and turned to the curtain.

"If you are heading for your bed," sniffed Snape, bringing McGonagall to a halt, "I suggest that you hurry, and that you do not leave it for the remainder of the night."

McGonagall made no reply, but rather marched out of the clammy office with her head held high.

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><p>On his way to the school kitchens for a cup of tea and some late-night sweets, the Headmaster of Hogwarts, Albus Dumbledore, was surprised to find Minerva McGonagall huddled in the corner of a particularly shadowed passage near the portrait leading into the kitchens. Her legs were skewed at an odd angle, and her palms and forehead were pressed against the stone wall of the hallway. Several house elves, draped in thin sheets, were cautiously standing in a semi-circle around her, one seemingly trying to coax her into coming out of the corner. When they noticed Dumbledore approaching, they parted to let him through to McGonagall.<p>

"Minerva!" he gasped, crouching beside her. She was staring intently at the wall, her thin lips pressed into a hard line. "What is wrong?"

In reply, she licked the wall and continued to stare at it unblinkingly, a delirious smile slowly spreading across her face.

"What happened to her?" Dumbledore now asked the group of house elves near him. The house elf closest to him approached with his head bowed, wringing his nightshirt between his knobbly fingers.

"I swears I don't know, master," he squeaked. "I sees her run straight past me... she runs straight into that corner, and she turns to me and she says that there is a door there... she says the door is made of candy, sir, and once she eats through it, she finds paradise." The house elf's ears were quivering.

"_Severus_," Dumbledore grumbled under his breath. He sighed and crouched beside McGonagall for a long while. Then he turned to the shaking house elf. "Thank you, Lint. I will take McGonagall up to my office for some refreshments." He paused, then, with a trademark twinkle in his eye, added, "Please, could you also bring us a pitcher of your freshest pumpkin juice?"

The house elf bowed and scampered along with the rest into the kitchen.

"Minerva," Dumbledore said quietly, eliciting no response. "Minerva, if you come up with me, I may just share my own candy. A couple of lemon drops... a sucker or two..."

McGonagall shuddered and looked at him, her eyes scanning, searching to see if he was telling the truth. All she saw was the same smile that she had already come to know so well.

"Trust me. It's a shortcut to where you want to go."

She bit her lip and accepted his aged hand, her judgment too far removed to refuse to take his claim on faith.


	3. Chapter 2

So here is Ch 2! I wrote this one, but **TheBreezeRider **had no edits to make on it, so that means that it's probably more raw than it should be. Harry Potter isn't my property, it's JK Rowling's, and stuff.

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><p><strong>Another Day at Hogwarts - Ch 1 - Part 2<strong>

Ch 2

_Legalize Marinara_

Night was total, even within the boundaries of the castle. The sage, aged and peculiar man, his arm wrapped around the stumbling woman's waist in a mostly vain attempt to keep her standing, was ambling quietly through a hallway devoid of activity - no single torch dare cast its flickering flame upon the walls, no creaking noise as the footsteps pattered upon the slumbering floorboards, one regular and firm, one more like a prisoner being dragged to their forever cell.

"Legalize it!" McGonagall suddenly screeched, her voice echoing back from all directions.

"Hush," Dumbledore muttered, but McGonagall's vacant expression and unusually toothy grin told him that getting her to do so might bring him more than he bargained for.

"Legalize marinara! Legalize it!"

"Minerva, perhaps this would be better discussion for someplace like my office, hmm?"

She stopped then, and a bony hand flopped over the banister, fingers practically humming as her nails tapped out a cacophony into the vacuous room of moving stairwells. McGonagall seemed dead set on stopping right there. Hellbent on praising the virtues of legalizing tomato sauce as best as she could. At nearly two in the morning on a Friday.

"They... did you know they even use the _tiny _glassware to make it? And they torture the momongas?" she was babbling, albeit with a projected voice. Dumbledore turned and stared at her through his half-moon glasses.

"Marinara..." she spluttered again. "They're not going to, the _Elves don't like that sauce anymore Albus -" _

"Minerva," Dumbledore said suddenly, raising his hand to silence her. After her short-lived rant the silence had turned from a truth lurking in the background to a deafening, forefront sensation. "This is a most pressing issue. However, nothing of this much importance should be freely discussed in the hallways, I'm sure you agree, Minerva... now come along..."

And he smiled as he turned, noticing her expression change from deluded rapture to a sudden, almost childish realization.

Several steps later he was stopped again when she asked, "...Can I still get your... your lemon drops... Albus?"

He chuckled lightly.

"Of course, Minerva. Now make haste; I have to show them to you before the pumpkin juice arrives."

Dumbledore was smiling again by the time he and McGonagall were standing in the stony antechamber in the presence of the gargoyle statue which hid the entrance to his office. He was smiling mostly because, after keeping her _out _of his office - filled with an untold number of priceless things no person sans judgment should be let near - he had finally let his guard down to the obviously hallucinating McGonagall's rather hilarious commentary. And after that he had learned what exactly it was that she had eaten.

"Minerva, I'm afraid you've got a rather bad case of drug intoxication," Dumbledore hummed amusedly as he faced the normally dignified head of Transfiguration, who, after a long night of chemically-aided euphoric revelry, was now looking rather like a well-used bean-bag chair. [lol :D] "Your symptoms are quite indicative of the malady. Which one, however, I cannot yet tell."

"Them elves won't put 'shrooms in the sauce," Minerva intoned.

"How unfortunate," Dumbledore responded in turn.

And then there was a loud _crack _and a house-elf appeared carrying a petite wooden platter with two full glasses of pumpkin juice.

"Ah, there it is!" Dumbledore clapped his hands before reaching to take them. "That's what we were waiting for, Minerva, the pumpkin juice. Thank you very much."

With Dumbledore's friendly yet curt nod, the elf bowed and then vanished once more.

"Is that your candy?" McGonagall asked, her voice having mutated into a whine in the stupor that she was now undergoing.

"Not quite, Minerva. You see, this juice may be how I got some of my kicks back in my younger wizarding days. But it lacks the vital ingredient."

"Marinara, Albus," McGonagall said firmly.

He chuckled again, both due to her response and because he had just realized that he had forgotten the very ingredient he had been promising. He turned his back to her in order to address the gargoyle.

"The password is licorice lollipops," he told it.

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><p>Two minutes later the stoic Headmaster and the drugged-up head of Gryffindor House were stepping off the rotating stairwell behind the guardian statue and striding into the foyer of Dumbledore's office.<p>

Dumbledore surged in front of the younger woman, pulling out his wand as he went and swiping it swiftly in a semicircle over his head, the two glasses of pumpkin juice floating in the direction of his desk. After the charm was complete McGonagall saw his shoulders slacken in what must have been relief, and since he was no longer burdened by the two glasses of liquid candy, she herself scuttled forward to take one for herself.

But she stopped when Dumbledore swept to his seat, holding both glasses back as he stared at her, smiling.

"When you gonna let me eat the candy, Albus?"

Another drawer opened, and another vial was removed. She couldn't see anything in it.

"When I'm done adding the secret ingredient, Minerva."

Her face told him that she must not have remembered him just telling her that.

"Now here is the very special thing - no, don't touch that, Minerva - each of us is a different person, so we each get our _own _ingredient." And with that he poured several drops into one of the glasses, causing the juice to fizz temporarily and darken into a ruddier shade of its original color.

"That will be yours, Minerva."

"Can I drink it now? The sooner I - "

Dumbledore cut her off, still holding the vial of clear liquid in his right hand. "Please."

McGonagall yanked the glass off the table and began to drink from it as if parched, her eyes wide and twitching as if hoping some vision would soon occur to her. Dumbledore's lip turned upwards slightly when this vision came, apparently one somewhat resembling the Weasley's owl flying at full speed into the back of her head. She froze, and then looked at Albus, looking somewhat as if she were deciding whether or not she should claw at her head. She shrugged, deciding against the maniacal maneuver, and then stood still, expectant.

"Minerva," Dumbledore addressed her. "What were you doing near the kitchens at this time of night?"

"I... I was... going to see Pomona..."

"Professor Sprout?" His brow wrinkled, remembering the proximity of the kitchens to the Hufflepuff house dormitories. "Whatever for?"

"I... to show her... what Severus... ask her what..."

"To ask her something about Severus?" His voice had grown quiet.

"What he gave me. What he made me eat."

"What did he give you?"

"...A muggle herb...I think..."

Dumbledore stared at her in concern, and then said, in a suddenly cheery manner, "Well I'll go ask Severus in the morning what got you into this condition. In the mean time, it doesn't look like you quite enjoyed the candy. Why not go back to your quarters, Minerva."

McGonagall, after oddly placing the remainder of her pumpkin juice on the floor instead of on Dumbledore's desk, trudged in the direction of the door. Just as she was about to turn the doorknob she turned back, looking back at Dumbledore with worry, who was standing in silence, eyes upon her.

"You don't like your candy either?" she said, swallowing as if her real self could her what her mouth was saying.

"Ah, yes, in fact," said Dumbledore, reaching for the glass of pumpkin juice that was in front of him. "Mine turned out very well. I'm sorry yours was too sour."

McGonagall nodded as if deep in thought, and then stiffly stepped foot upon the staircase.

"Marinara's always too bloody sour," Dumbledore believed he heard her mumble as he capped the veritaserum and placed it back where he had found it.

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><p>Ch 3 should also have multiple parts.<p> 


	4. Chapter 3

Harry Potter is not my property, and neither should the crack-ness my brain comes up with, but... that's another story. If you think you know what the potion is that Snape drinks in this section, then don't spoil it! And if you see the error in the choice... it was done on purpose and will be addressed in Part II. Anyway, here be Chapter 3.

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><p><strong>Another Day at Hogwarts<strong>

**Ch III Part I**

_And So It Begins_

Albus Dumbledore discovered the normally composed potions master still curled in a fetal position on the pillow-strewn floor of his curtained alcove. The light coming in from the small, barred window only served to show that it was as overcast outdoors as it felt in the cramped space, and hardly served to illuminate it; but Dumbledore could pick out Snape's sallow face among the shadows and dark pillows almost at once. He grasped the sleeping man by the shoulders and shook him until his eyes began to blink slowly. "Severus! Wake up at once!"

The groggy professor pushed away several strands of greasy hair out of his face as he sat up. His expression turned particularly sour when he saw the silhouette of the bearded headmaster crouching beside him. "What is the meaning of this interruption?" he demanded.

When the intruder's face came into focus, Snape's eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he did not betray his sudden inner fear that Dumbledore had discovered his most secret addiction. The vial of psilocybin mushrooms was luckily stashed away in his robes, where Dumbledore would not be able to see it.

"I ran into Minerva very late last n... early this morning," Dumbledore responded coolly, frowning. The all too familiar gleam in his eye now flashed coldly at Snape from beneath the old man's spectacles.

"What is the point of your trangression?" Snape stood up, a sinking feeling that Dumbledore knew exactly what he had spent his night doing pervading his thoughts. He followed Dumbledore out of the alcove and into his office, the stale air hitting him like a truck.

"We had a very interesting discussion about marinara, among other things," said Dumbledore, picking up his statement from before. "She seemed very intent on finding some sort of secret world near the kitchens." Dumbledore leaned forward, his hands on Snape's desk, staring down at his subordinate with an unreadable look. "It was altogether very... odd."

Snape simply crossed his own hands, a stoic expression at the ready to combat Dumbledore's gaze. If he were to have guessed... it would be quite the predicament.

The aged headmaster sighed and stood up straight again. "I am afraid she must have gotten into the catnip again, Severus," he said, and again, the gleam in his eye seemed to pierce Snape like an arrow. As he walked around the desk toward Snape, Dumbledore smiled. "I simply came to find and antidote to clear away her symptoms," he said, chuckling. "But you don't look so good yourself, Severus! Is everything all right?"

"Yes." he replied, unmoved, but struggling with his conscience.

"I shall fetch Minerva an antidote from your supply closet, if you do not mind," Dumbledore went on, still smiling. "And I will grab something for you, as well." He made his way past the desk and the curtained alcove to an ajar door in the corner of the room.

Snape frowned. "If you insist," he called after him, hoping that this was all for the best. His head was throbbing, and the events unfolding around him still slowed down and sped up with uncontrollable uncertainty, as it was wont to do after his high the night before.

"I believe I do need something to alleviate my pain..." he mumbled under his breath, coming out more like a concession than he had originally intended.

Dumbledore returned quickly, a vial in both spindly hands. One vial contained a prepared concoction of what looked like green water, the other a dense, pink liquid that Snape did not recall creating. Or maybe he did. The line between reality and fantasy was thin in the afterglow of last night's high.

The old headmaster made a straight path for Snape and leaned in as he jiggled the vial of bright, pink substance in front of Snape's face. "Severus, this happens to be a substance that _muggles _use. And American muggles at that."

Snape felt his left eye twitch, and he knew he had been betrayed. Dumbledore _had _been able to make sense of McGonagall after all.

"I suggest you drink all of it," Dumbledore instructed him in an unusually satisfied manner, depositing the vial on the corner of Snape's desk and took a step back, folding his arms, the closest look to smugness he had ever seen in the headmaster's smile.

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><p>After several moments, Snape reached out and wrapped his fingers around the vial, putting it to his lips. He had been expecting the liquid to go down in one swift gulp, but he found that the consistency of the substance would only allow it to enter his mouth in small increments, forcing him to pace himself between sips.<p>

The first few went down smoothly, the pink stuff sliding down his throat in an aggravatingly unhurried manner. The taste was not altogether unpleasant, a chalky, fruity flavor that left only a bitter aftertaste on the back of his tongue. Then came the fourth sip.

Half-way through, Snape staggered forward, falling to one knee, one hand on the ground and the other clasping his gut. The vial clattered to the floor, undamaged.

"Albus..." he groaned, teeth clenched.

"Severus, " replied Dumbledore, softly. "I instructed you to finish the _entire_ vial."

Snape adjusted himself on the ground and the old headmaster crouched beside him, holding the glass container to his lips. "No... I don't... stop..." Snape whispered, a forced sound halfway between a choke and a sob that would have made the most heard-hearted brute pity the man's suffering. But Dumbledore pressed on, walking around behind him and placing his hand on his shoulder in some twisted form of encouragement.

"Drink."

Snape continued to struggle, but he could not pull himself away, the old man's touch on his back somehow pushing him on like some cruel encouragement - like he was keeping the _on _button shoved firmly pressed downward.

By the sixth sip he let loose a terrible scream that was lost in the darkness of the dungeons. One more, and he began to confess his involvement with intoxicating McGonagall, tears rolling down his face.

"I did it! I gave her the... the shrooms! But why, Dumbledore? She was already rolling in catnip when I - _agh! - _I found her!"

By the ninth, he clutched his abdomen as if his insides were on fire. He tried to scream, but again the vial was at his lips, and another agonizingly slow drop made it down his throat.

After the tenth and final drink, he succumbed to the pain fully, falling into a fetal position at Dumbledore's knees. "KILL ME!" he cried as he felt something in his bowels give. "KILL ME! - "

And then Snape's face blanched utterly, and he fell to his knees.

As the potions master blacked out and began to topple over, Dumbledore caught the man and eased him gently on the stone ground of the stale chamber. The headmaster's nose crinkled at the putrid stench slowly diffusing throughout the room. "This might have to be a job for Filch," he muttered, at once amused by his handiwork as well as repulsed.

As the aged man made to turn out of the chamber, he turned to look once again at the sprawled form of his fellow faculty member. "I shall await your counterattack with great anticipation, Severus," he said, his lips curling into a smile. "And so it begins."

He then clambered out of the dungeons and strolled in the direction of the greenhouses.

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><p>The section where Snape is forced to drink the pink potion was directly influenced by pages 571-3 of The Half Blood Prince. It's not plagiarism though, it's just inspirationpaying homage to that section.


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